The Fort

XXIV

PISO STILL HAD a bandage around his head, but otherwise appeared unscathed. Ferox had watched the tribune ride slowly towards the fort, a warrior on either side of him and standard-bearer and man sounding an ox horn behind them. The young aristocrat kept his hands together close behind his horse’s neck, suggesting that they were tied.

Sabinus was nervous. ‘It is not unknown for besiegers to execute or torture a captive in sight of the walls to persuade the defenders to surrender.’

Ferox did not need to be told that, for he had seen Roman armies do the same thing more than once. He had not particularly liked Piso, and doubted that anyone would wish to give in merely to save the tribune from torment, but hoped that they would not have to watch. Sosius had hinted that there were doubts over the aristocrat’s loyalty and Lepidina told him the story of the father’s incompetent plot and exile. The family sounded more like a poor joke than a real threat to the emperor.

‘I do not like it,’ Claudia said. ‘And see the rider on the left?’

Ferox had already recognised Ivonercus. ‘If they are talking, then they are not attacking,’ he said. It was four days after the big assault and during those days the archers and engines had continued to nibble away at the defenders. Twenty-three men had died during the assault, almost half in killing the Dacians surrounded and shut inside the fort when Ferox and the others had closed the gates. Half a dozen more had been killed by missiles or succumbed to their wounds in the last few days. Four times as many were wounded, not counting the flesh wounds and scratches that many more had taken. Sulpicia Lepidina had run out of bandages and begun cutting up spare clothes, including some of her own.

‘If it was good enough for the Lord Trajan, then it is good enough for me,’ she said, referring to a much trumpeted incident in the first war when the emperor had given spare cloaks and tunics to the surgeons to help them cope with a deluge of wounded. The Dacian skill with bows, and their fondness for cutting swords like the sica and the great falx always meant that there were plenty of wounded. As usual the lady had made no fuss, but simply got on with the task at hand, but the story had spread nevertheless. Ferox heard men joking that they should all stick their legs up over the parapet and take wounds, because that way Lepidina, Claudia and all the other women might end up naked.

Spirits remained high, buoyed by the victory, and managed to cope with the slaughter of half the horses, which were butchered and the meat either cooked for issue or salted. With more than a hundred animals that was a big task, and at the same time work parties laboured to build Ephippus’ acropolis, and to clear up after the fighting, whether gathering arrows and other usable material, or lifting the dead Dacians and tipping them over the ramparts to join the hundreds of corpses left by the attack. The enemy made no request for a truce to gather up their fallen, so most of the bodies lay where they were, faces changing from the odd, wax-like pallor of the newly dead into a deep red brown as they bloated and the stomachs started to burst open. The stench was awful, clawing at the throat like something physical, but at least it was outside and from the enemy.

They had burned their own corpses, using a patch of open ground where one of the granaries had once stood, and a pyre carefully planned by Ephippus to produce the most heat. Claudia Enica told her tribesmen that although this was not their way, this was what must be done, but before the thing was done relatives or someone from their clan snipped hair and cut the little finger from each body, so these could be kept and taken back to their homeland when all this was over. Ferox admired their optimism, and at times like this was glad that his wife was here, for she inspired them in a way he knew he could not. Like a family, the Brigantes seemed to forget their grievances with each other as they united against the bigger enemy. Even the gruffest and most hostile now grinned when Ferox appeared, for he was the queen’s consort and he was their war chief for the moment. She had proven her courage as well as her right to rule, leading a charge that killed or chased out all Dacians who managed to come through a hole knocked in one of the east gates. Whatever Rome said, she was their queen, descendant of Cartimandua, and Ferox was her chosen husband. So they would serve him and fight by his side, at least until this was over.

Ferox wished he knew whether Hadrian or anyone else was mustering a force to relieve them, but in his heart he doubted that help would ever come. Strangely, such thoughts did not depress him, for there was always so much to do.

‘You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?’ Vindex said whenever they met, while Claudia would shake her head on the rare times that they were alone and say much the same thing. In truth there was a simplicity about it all, and trying to outwit the enemy, anticipating and blocking his next move, kept his mind far too busy to brood.

Ferox did his best to give the garrison some rest, but there were always too many things to do. Clearing up took time and effort, preparing the pyre and the corpses for cremation took more, and all had to be done before they started slaughtering horses and mules because he did not want the smell of bodies and of cooking meat to mingle in the air and stick in men’s minds. The live horses still needed grooming and care, and they would only live for as long as there was fodder and no need for their meat. Weapons needed cleaning, blades needed sharpening, armour and helmets to be greased or repaired, as did the engines, and as many new missiles made as they could. Some fatigues could not be abandoned, so men were tasked with cleaning the latrines, replacing the sponges and water. Sickness would come in time, as it always did, for the evil spirits that caused it could sense weakness in a man, but he would do his best to delay the inevitable. All of these things needed to be done, and all the while the enemy needed to be fought. Apart from the near constant deluge of missiles, now and then a few score would rush forward with ladders, so men needed to be on the walls all the time, and although they had not yet tried it, he feared another night attack, so kept strong detachments on duty throughout the hours of darkness. If the men were worked hard, then he had to work harder still, so there was little rest and when he took a break he tended to fall asleep as soon as he lay down. Queen’s consort or not, there had been no opportunity for consorting.

‘What are you smirking at?’ Claudia Enica’s sharp tone snapped him back to the present.

‘Sorry, miles away.’ He was getting tired and he knew it, sensing the same in all those around him. That was the problem. With all their numbers the enemy could rest and the garrison could not, so it would be worn away like a cliff by the sea. The only consolation was that they were doing the job and holding the Dacian army here. Ferox was surprised that they had not tried to sneak heavy supplies over the bridge, or taken the bulk across under cover of their attack. For the last two days he had not even ordered the monâkon to lob an occasional stone as reminder of what they could do, half fearing that he might remind the enemy leaders of why they had come here. He wondered whether the fort had become a challenge for them in its own right, rather than a distraction.

The riders were close now.

‘May we approach?’ The Dacian leading them called out. It was a different herald to last time, a little older and more slightly built.

‘I would speak with you, Flavius Ferox?’ Piso shouted out. ‘Will you come down so that you can see my face and know that I speak the truth – no more, no less?’ The Dacian seemed surprised at this, but said nothing.

‘Can we not speak from here?’

‘I am your senior, centurion, by birth and in the army. It is not fitting that I look up at you.’

‘Don’t be a fool,’ Claudia whispered.

‘I thought that was why you married me,’ he replied, before raising his voice. ‘Sabinus, make sure the scorpio is ready. If there is the slightest sign of treachery then don’t let anyone escape.’

Vepoc winked. ‘Even you, lord?’

‘Use your judgement.’ There were archers lurking in the outer ditch, although none that close to the road or the heralds. Ferox could not see any sign of an impending attack. Still, it was difficult to be sure. Over the last few nights the Dacians had thrown up a rampart less than a hundred paces from the wall, just beyond the remnants of the lilliae, all of which they had filled in. There could be men lurking behind this shelter, ready to pour out of the gaps left in the wall as soon as the gate was opened. If so, then they were unlikely to get there before it was closed again, whatever happened to him.

By the time the gate opened and Ferox walked out, the tribune had dismounted. After some uncertainty, the Dacian and Ivonercus did the same. Piso was wearing a cuirass and the rest of his uniform apart from his helmet, but the scabbard on his left hip was empty.

‘It is good to see you well, my lord,’ Ferox said. After all this was diplomacy, so the truth was neither here nor there. ‘I trust your wound is healing?’

‘It is.’ The young aristocrat coughed nervously. ‘I am sent to ask you to yield the fort and march away with all your men.’ The words were precise and obviously rehearsed. As obvious was the tone of sarcasm. ‘I am informed that you have already refused these generous terms, but am to ask you to reconsider. There is no need for anyone else to die in this place.

‘There, that is done,’ Piso said, ‘and I have kept my word to my charming hosts. Now, give me your sword.’

‘Sir?’

‘Trust me, this is necessary. Your fellows up there can kill me with ease if that is what they want.’ He glanced up. ‘Jupiter’s holy toga, there’s a woman up there. It is true then? Such a pretty little thing too. Your sword, man.’

‘I will not yield, sir.’

‘It is an order. You, Briton, obey me!’ Piso barked the words and Ferox thought that they were directed at him until Ivonercus drew his slim spatha.

‘This is a parley!’ the Dacian said, stepping in front of Ferox, and then grunted as Ivonercus drove the sword into his stomach, the sharp point going between the scales and thrusting up. On the gate the scorpio cracked and its bolt whipped through the air, just missing the top of the Brigantian’s helmet and burying itself in the chest of the standard-bearer’s horse. The beast screamed, and rolled over, throwing its rider.

‘Come on!’ Piso was already running for the gate. There were Dacian shouts, anger mixed with shock, and arrows came, but struck the riderless horses instead of their targets. Ivonercus twisted his blade free and then stabbed the writhing Dacian in the throat.

Ferox dashed back to the gate. Piso was hit beneath the knee by an arrow and fell in a heap. Ferox was close behind, so close that he jumped over the tribune rather than trying to stop. He kept going, the narrowly open gate just a few paces away.

‘Centurion!’ Piso screamed at him. ‘Help me!’

Ferox hesitated, the temptation strong to leave them both to the Dacians. Horns were blowing and men shouting as hundreds of warriors streamed through the gaps in their wall. Breaking a truce was a great impiety. Silures respected few things, and liked nothing better than to deceive an enemy and hurt him without him realising what was happening, but even they felt that a curse would fall on anyone breaking a truce.

Ivonercus spun around as an arrow from a belly bow snapped the rings on his mail and dug into his shoulder. He dropped his sword and staggered on.

The habit of duty was too strong and Ferox turned around, lifted the tribune and swung him onto his back.

‘I’m not your shield, you bastard!’ the tribune snarled, but though arrows came close none touched them and the only one to hit Ivonercus bounced back from his armour. Then they were through the gate and it was slamming shut behind them. Ferox dropped the tribune, none too gently, and ran for the stairs leading onto the rampart. ‘Sound the alarm,’ he shouted.

It was not a planned attack, well thought out and hitting the fort from several directions, but a simple outpouring of rage. Hundreds and then thousands of warriors rushed from cover or came from the camp and hurled themselves at the walls. There were fewer ladders than in the last attack, but every time the men around them were shot down more appeared and soon half a dozen rose against the front rampart. Ferox cut down one warrior who had pushed back the defenders and managed to leap onto the walkway, but few others made it that far. The Dacians died, well over a hundred of them, and many more moaned as they crawled or were carried back when the fury at last was spent. Seven of the garrison were killed to inflict this carnage and thirty more wounded, while they threw or shot far more missiles than usual, for there was a frenzy about the fighting on both sides.

Piso tried to make light of it all, when Ferox went to visit him in the hospital. ‘If I had known that I would be ministered to by such a fair doctor, then I believe I would have stayed here rather than going to Sarmizegethusa,’ he said, beaming at Sulpicia Lepidina, before taking her hand and kissing it. ‘Hygaia herself could hardly be more kind.

‘And I would not have gone, nor trusted to those Dacian bastards – oh, my apologies, lady – if I had known what they were like. Decebalus took me prisoner during a truce, so I wanted to repay the compliment. Oh, and as I have said, that noble fellow, your husband, was quite well when last I saw him. A hostage it is true, but that means that he and the others will be treated well.’ He shook his head. ‘Poor Longinus, but then I suppose you have not heard that he is dead by poison. Did not want the emperor to worry on his behalf, so they say.’

‘We have heard, my lord.’

‘Then perhaps you had better tell me about your situation. Be a few days before this leg heals and I am fit for dancing, so you must command until then, but it is good if I know what has happened.’

Ferox told him, and sensed the tribune’s disappointment as he spoke of their meagre supplies, growing losses, and rapid depletion of missiles.

‘But help will be on its way, no doubt,’ Piso said, as if trying to convince himself.

‘It is to be hoped, my lord, but as long as we hold on here, we protect the route down to the Ister and the great bridge. We are doing our duty.’

‘Yes,’ Piso sounded unsure. ‘Yes, that is good. I saw them working on a couple of siege towers, so that is what you can expect next. Struck me as rickety affairs, so more than likely fall down on their own, but I would judge that they will be finished in a day or two.

‘By the way, I’ll not take up space here that might be needed by those in a worse state. I will take a room or two in the praetorium. Won’t need much, but I’d be obliged if you could spare a boy and maybe a girl or two to see to my needs.’

‘I will see what I can do.’ Sulpicia Lepidina was behind Piso and gave Ferox a look that made clear that no female slave or anyone other than the oldest of the men would be let anywhere near the tribune on their own. ‘Of course we can oblige.’

Enica as queen had already spoken to Ivonercus, but Ferox wanted to see the man before the medicus tried to cut out the head of the arrow lodged in the bone.

‘I want to be with my own folk,’ the Brigantian said. ‘And if they are fighting, then I want to be at their side not against them. I have sworn to the queen and I will not break my word. My quarrel with you is over – for the moment.’

Ivonercus appeared sincere, which did not mean that he was not lying. Ferox put a couple of guards outside the hospital and doubled the sentries at the gates and protecting the monâkon just in case he had been sent into the fort for a reason, or still had friends among the Brigantians who might help him. That meant an extra burden on his ever-diminishing garrison, although a score of men with lighter wounds had asked to return to duty.

The day passed visiting the walls and work parties, issuing orders, encouraging, praising and now and again chasing weary men to work harder. The mood had changed, and he suspected the arrival of Piso and his breaking the truce was making men wonder whether he would bring down ill fortune on them all. No one seemed pleased to see him, and Sosius, who was working hard and showing a deal of skill in fletching arrows, hinted that the aristocrat was not to be trusted.

Half an hour before midnight, Ferox ate a little food and went to get a few hours’ sleep before he needed to inspect the sentries and check that all was well. To his surprise there was a large wooden frame bed with its own roof and curtains somehow squeezed into his small chamber. It belonged to Lepidina and Cerialis, and had remained on the cart with the belongings the lady had not unpacked. In fact, Ferox had been wondering whether to ask for it and several other bulky pieces of furniture to help with the barricades needed for Ephippus’ sanctuary.

Ferox blinked, wondering whether he had taken a wrong turn, then undressed mechanically, wishing that there was time for a bath, because he knew that the hot water would relax him. Still, sleep should not be a problem, for he ached in body and mind. He was half asleep already, otherwise he might have guessed.

‘I had almost given up,’ Claudia Enica said as he drew back the curtains. She smiled as he stood there, wholly naked, for the nights had grown sultry and oppressive.

‘I am so tired, my love,’ he stammered.

‘We shall see about that,’ she said, pulling back the blankets to show that she was as bare as he was.